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i met a hard-living rancher from west texas who cried at the drop of a hat. our conversations were odd. as he told me about his cattle, the drought and old-world things, he would get choked up and have to look away. my father, a large man, cried all the time. as an adolescent, it drove me nuts.

i spent a few years reacting against my father's emotionalism (among other freudian behaviors). i didn't, or acted not to cry throughout high school and college.

the more recent fact is that i have less problems with the boohoo-ing. maybe i've matured a bit. maybe i'm learning to accept the parts of my father in me that drive me nuts. these are logical explanations.

but i'd prefer to confess this as my litmus test: if it's beautiful, then it's worth my emotion. most weeks i celebrate the genius of modern family with a laugh, but ever so often, it's with reddened, moist eyes. sometimes, after a hard month, i drive and let'em roll, which can be just as da…

it has taken years to get here.
what has not lead me to this
place?
had i set out to come to this, likely i'd still be lost
wandering
and opposed.
then why do i want you to hurry?
unsuccessfully i've rushed
myslef.
so please, don't come.
but find a way
to ignore me
to translate
to wait
to find self
to

entering the second, i recognize a great failure. of all the words and phrases that have trended in our vocabulary, one i enjoy the least: secular.

i cringe, yet also realize the distinction, not between meanings or contexts, but between values. what was once clear to me in the first half, is now blurred, though no less important. i welcome the creativity of the gray, the artistry of the world, the thrill of breathing. there is neither secular, nor super-natural. there is only alive.

i believe that humans are flawed, yet at once, incredible. all life is secular, yet entirely belonging to the greater. rinse and repeat, my hope is not for more division- i wait for wholeness.

trail interrupted
by a large oak.
face down after august storm,
too high to scale-
too low to duck,
unclip.
the uprooted stump lifts the earth
and leaves a grave beneath.
the canopy gapped by the loss.